


no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

by stuckytrash (Watsittoyou)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Difference, Bucky Barnes Feels, Cop Steve, I promise, Intersex Bucky, Kinda, M/M, Mpreg, Nerd Bucky Barnes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Science Nerd Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, Twink Bucky, mostly - Freeform, not a/b/o, not as dark as it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watsittoyou/pseuds/stuckytrash
Summary: ...there was no mugging victim hiding just beyond the corner, there was no stab wound or wound of any kind to be seen. Steve saw something worse.A pregnant carrier, curled into himself against the wall, clearly gritting his teeth against the pain of what Steve suddenly identified as labour.In which Steve really does know nothing about babies, but he can't just let James put his son up for adoption and go back onto the streets, can he?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wips??? what wips??? i don't have any previously posted wips i should be working on... *closes the S E V E N new wip documents open on my laptop*  
> Here is one of those seven! More mpreg, because I'm a sucker for these two with a baby, where one of them has that baby. I've got a pregnant Steve in the works, but it's angsty as hell, i think it would just be too sad to post, honestly.  
> First of all, the Rape/Non-con is not explicit. It's not described explicitly but referred to at multiple points later on in the story. You can probably guess the scenario, but if you don't want to be spoiled, look away now: [Bucky was raped prior to the story, resulting in his pregnancy.]  
> Secondly, I'm taking many, many, many liberties here. I'm not a cop, I don't live in New York, I don't know how the majority of things i write about in this story work, but damn it I'm trying! Let me know if there's something I can change to make it more realistic, I'd appreciate it!  
> Third, this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine!  
> That being said, I hope you enjoy!

Steve was _exhausted_.

Being a police officer wasn’t as glamorous as _Brooklyn 99_ made it out to be, he thought ruefully as he got into his apartment, locking the door behind him.

The first thing he ever did after getting home was make his way directly to the safe in the guest bedroom, hidden low down under a pile of blankets. He didn’t like to carry his off-duty Glock for longer than necessary – since that’s precisely what it’s for, off duty. He unloaded it, comfortable in his routine, and taking the ammo and putting it into a separate safe in his own room. Call him paranoid, but he saw it far too often in his line of work; people leave a loaded gun where people find it, swipe it, and shoot it, injuring themselves or others in the process.

He was probably going to order pizza for dinner again, like he had twice this week already, but even a day shift in the precinct had left him utterly shattered for the rest of the day.

In fact, he should probably make use of the recipe book that Clint had bought him for his birthday at some point. Living off of takeout would, sooner or later, make him fail his fitness tests.

Alright, that might be a lie, he admitted to himself. His one and only hobby is going to the gym thrice a week. For two hours each time. It’s not like he wants any other hobby. What other hobbies could he have? Collecting _stamps_? He could take up gardening, he mused.

The small space he had on his balcony might be enough to cultivate a little flower patch. He knew for a fact that the room three floors above his is growing a weed patch, but he also knew that the man living there was sixty-two, no family, and living off a retired army pension, dealing with chronic pain all day, every day. And whenever Steve’s home, he wasn’t a police officer.

His phone vibrated, most likely a text from Natasha howling him to come out on Friday night. Once in a while, he can understand why it’s a good idea. To try to get out of his shell, to try to meet new people.

Oh, who was he kidding? Once in a while he wants a good, hard hook-up. This was shaping up to be one of those weeks.

But first, he was going to take a goddamned nap, like the thirty year old he is.

 

Just ten minutes into his nap he was rudely awoken. For a second, he thought it’s not-his cat, whom he affectionately called Merlin thanks to his ability to seemingly appear and disappear out of thin air. It wasn’t not Merlin, though, because while Merlin whines and cries when he gets locked out, he doesn’t sound like a person that’s just been stabbed.

Keening and halfway to screaming, someone in the alley is in pain, so Steve bolts to the window and unlatches it, sticking his head out haphazardly, trying to spot the source. Is there a mugging going on? If there is or there isn’t, Steve was obligated, both by his job and his own sense of morality, to investigate. He didn’t hesitate before unlocking his safes and loading his gun. The fire escape is the quickest route, and he’s never had to use it before, and it’s not like he had a landlord to complain at him since he owns his apartment.

His gun temporarily stowed, he raced to the bottom of the building, and as he reached the foot, the whimpering got quieter, fading instead to desperate gasps. Still cautious, Steve reached for his gun and raised it, safety clicked off.

“What’s going on?” he demanded in his officer voice, eyes searching for the source of the whimpering. “Is someone hurt?”

“G-go away,” came a high, desperate voice, the tone just screaming the opposite of the words intended.

Steve dipped his gun lower, clicking the safety back on as he investigated the source of the sound. To his horror, while there was no mugging victim hiding just beyond the corner, while there was no stab wound or wound of any kind to be seen, he saw something worse.

A pregnant carrier, curled into himself against the wall, clearly gritting his teeth against the pain of what Steve suddenly identifies as labour.

“Oh my God,” he said inadvertently, shoving his gun into its holster haphazardly as he drops to his knees. “Sir? Sir? Are you alright?”

“F-fuck off,” the man hissed, baring his teeth like an angered cat, but hardly making Steve flinch at all.

“Do you have anyone I can call for you?” he asked, voice more level now that he had his head back. He was already halfway to fumbling for his phone before the man responded.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be on the fucking _streets_ , would I?” He said. “Just – Jesus, just fuck off, forget you sa-a _-owww-”_

“I can get you to a hospital,” Steve said firmly, pushing aside the idea that the poor guy didn’t have anyone he could call, but once again, he was interrupted.

“No fucking hospitals!” he winced again as he tried to sit up. “Do I look like I’ve got fucking medical insurance?” If Steve wasn’t so distracted by the steel in his gaze, he might have mistaken it for tears.

“I can take you to your home, then-”

He laughed hysterically, tears dripping of off his cheeks. “Look, _dude_ , I’m fucking giving birth on the _street._ Do you _think_ I’ve gotta home to go to?”

“I know a clinic,” he said instead, because there was no way in hell he was letting _anyone_ give birth on the street, not when there was a free, sterile, _safe_ place for him to go just three blocks away. “I won’t make you come, but I’m not leaving you here to have your baby on the street.” Steve said firmly.

The man hesitated, swallowing. “Free?” he sounds almost choked. “No – no hidden – I can’t…”

“Completely free,” Steve half-lied. It was technically free. But only because it was Steve taking him there. He’d pay the excess without a second’s hesitation if anyone brought it up, but the nurse in charge, Claire, had never held it against him before, especially with how well she knew Fury. The precinct and the clinic had an agreement, of sorts.  “I can help. Just let me take you to that clinic, okay? For your baby?”

The man’s face twisted, then, sharp and sad as he nodded. “Okay, he breathes, “Oh, fuck, _where_ -”

“Too far to walk,” Steve said, even though he knew the man wouldn’t like it. “Quicker to drive. Especially if you’re in labour.”

His hackles raised again, baring his teeth. “That’s what you’re fucking doing then,” he spat. “Trying to get me into your car so you can drive me – fuck, wherever you want, huh?”

“I live right here,” Steve pointed out tiredly, gesturing to the fire escape he’d come down. “I have nowhere else I would or could drive you besides my house or the clinic, so you’re just going to have to take my word for it, alright?”

He really, really didn’t want to go with Steve, he could tell.  But Steve could _also_ tell that this poor guy had exhausted every last one of his options, so he pushes himself, wincing to his feet. Steve resists the urge to offer a hand or ask him if he wanted help, since he knew quite well that just because you were in labour, didn’t mean you were an invalid.

Steve was lucky he’d still got his car keys on him, so he didn’t have to run back to his apartment for them. He opens the back seat door for him, though, because he had to at least _try_ to be chivalrous.

“Can, uh, can I get a name?” Steve cringes, starting the car up and clicking on his belt.

"You can call me James,” he hisses as presumably another contraction hit him. Steve also didn’t miss the inflection of _you_ can call me; if he had to guess, his name _was_ James, but not the name he went by.

“James.” Steve nodded, half-zoning out as he slipped into driver-mode. “I’m Steve.”

“Right.” James grimaced, and Steve swallowed, all out of conversation starters. He really didn’t think, _so, how’s living on the streets?_ Would go down well.

“So – uh – you know what you’re having?”

“A baby.”

“… Yeah.” Steve nodded. Alright, that was fair. “As in, uh, sex?”

“No.” the response was curt, judgemental.

“Oh.” There went that conversation starter. “Uh, where are you from?”

“Where are we now?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Where did you find me?”

“… An alley in Brooklyn.”

“You tell me.”

Steve sighed. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, okay? Just trying to make conversation.”

“Oh, next are you gonna ask me how I got onto the streets?” James replied in a falsely sweet falsetto. “Who my baby-daddy is?” his grin sharpened. “Neither of those things are any of your fuckin’ business. I’m not telling you _shit_ about my life because you don’t fuckin’ care.”

“If I didn’t care, I’d have just left you alone in the alley,” Steve pointed out. “Even before I knew you were… pregnant.”

“I heard that,” James spat bitterly. “Everyone’s the same. ‘S not unnatural, asshole. All species fucking have it.”

“That’s not what I said or implied,” If he hadn’t already sighed twice in the last five minutes, he’d definitely sigh again. “My uncle is a carrier. There’s nothing wrong with being one, not at all. What’s wrong is a pregnant carrier living on the streets.”

He heard James’ mouth open, a quick intake of breath ready to retort before it escaped as a groan instead. Alarmed, Steve glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.

“You alright?”

“Fuck you.”

 _Don’t sigh_ , Steve pleaded with himself. _Do not sigh._

“How long have you been in labor?” he asked instead, growing increasingly concerned that James was going to give birth in his car.

“Like I fucking know what time it is?”

“Seven-thirteen.”

“Last night, then.”

There was a light thrill of panic in Steve’s chest, _oh god he’s going to give birth in my car,_ but then he schooled himself. The clinic was literally only minutes away, and there was minimal traffic – for New York.

Though James did have two more (rather painful sounding) contractions, he pulled into a parking spot at the clinic having avoided getting… fluids? On his car seats.

When Steve tried, again, to be polite, to open the door for James, he only got an irritated grunt in reply.

“You can fuck off now,” James dismissed, clearly trying to be as flippant as possible despite having to lean against the frame of his car to cope with the contraction.

“No, you’ll be seen to quicker if I’m with you,” and it wasn’t like it was a lie – just not really the truth. If it had been a gash or a broken arm, then sure, Steve’s presence would have accelerated the process. But the guy being in labor? No, that would be seen to almost immediately – especially if he’d been in labor for almost a full day.

James huffed, but didn’t argue, setting about waddling towards the entrance, Steve hovering only a few steps behind. What the hell was he doing, Steve wondered. One minute he was enjoying his nap, the next minute driving a pregnant carrier to a clinic to give birth.

Sure enough, as soon as the man behind the desk caught sight of Steve, he straightened, eyes sliding over to James before standing and pressing a button behind the desk.

“Rogers brought in another stray,” the man called out loudly. James grit his teeth, and Steve assumed it was out of irritation before he unexpectedly thrust out a hand to tightly grasp onto Steve’s shoulder and grunt painfully.

Steve barely had the time to act surprised before there was a nurse at his side shooing Steve away and gently coaxing James to walk down the corridor with a soothing voice far more practiced than Steve’s – even when he had to speak gently to victims or family members. James seemed slightly more at ease with a woman at his side instead of Steve, although he couldn’t really figure out if it was _because_ she was a woman, or because he just didn’t like Steve. Still, though, it made him curious.

And his work was also done – he just needed to fill out the necessary paperwork for the department to foot the bill instead of him. As long as he specified that he had reason to believe James’ or his baby’s health might be compromised he was home free.

So why did he feel so bad about leaving afterwards?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on the lay chapter! I hope you alll enjoy this one too :)  
> Blanket permission for you to (politely!) point out any mistakes as this Ian unbeta’d.  
> Also! A small teaser of sorts. I’m kind of subverting general charavterisations of certain common characters throughout this story. Most people probably won’t like that, but this is my sorry and dl;dr :). You’ll see exactly what I mean in a chpter or two’s time!

 

Bucky had no idea he was having a boy.

It wasn’t like he’d ever been to a doctor. He didn’t even _think_ about the stupid old wives’ tales about ‘the position they were conceived in’ or how high or low he was carrying.

He couldn’t afford to think like that. Like it was his baby to have. To keep.

Except the second the baby started screaming, coming into the world kicking and fighting, Bucky wanted to curl up and cry, and take that small part of him into his arms and never, ever let him go.

The nurse asked him, after they had cleaned down the crying soul, checked he was healthy, if he wanted to hold his son.

He shouldn’t have done it, he knew before he even nodded that it would be a mistake, but he had to have even a few _seconds_ with this little life he lost everything for.

It was almost like he blinked, and between one glance and the next his cheeks were dripping with tears, and he just hid his face into the blanket the nurse had wrapped the boy in, the one he'd bought, hiding his sobs between the baby’s.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, so quietly he could barely hear himself; he really didn’t want anybody else listening in. “It’s okay, baby boy, okay, shhh… It’s not really fair, is it?” he settled his lips onto the start of the boy’s hairline, matted with soft hair already clean of his blood. “You’ve just been brought in here without any idea why. It’s not fair, baby. It’s not fair…”

If he weren’t still just barely an adult. If he weren’t living on the streets. If he had any home to go to. If he had any idea of who his father was.

If _anything._

He might have been able to keep his son.

 

 

“What am I _doing_?” Steve hissed to himself as he approached James’ room, balloon and teddy in hand. Surely the man was going to think Steve was _crazy –_ and he must have been to buy a gift for the baby of a man he’d never met before. _Insane._

It wasn’t like he could walk away now, either, he was already in too deep – the nurses and doctors all knew him and if any of them spotted him running away, he’d never hear the end of it. So he summoned his dignity and knocked quietly, in case the new-born was asleep.

There was a beat of silence, before a quiet, questioning ‘Hello?’ rang out. Steve opened the door, going through head first so that James knew it was him. Sure enough, as soon as James caught sight of him he straightened, arms shifting around the cream bundle in his arms as his expression shut off.

“What are you doing here?” he asked flatly. “You did your good deed for the day.”

“I wanted to see if you were doing okay,” he let his eyes trail over the bundle. “And your baby. It’s nice when sometimes things go right for people. I – I brought a bear? I wasn’t sure if… if the kid had any…”

“He doesn’t.” he said shortly. “You can – just. I don’t know, leave it on the chair or something on your way out.”

It was a dismissal, but Steve didn’t really want to take the bait. So instead, he smiled lopsidedly and asked,

“So what’re you naming the little guy?”

James stared at him knuckles white as his hands clenched the blanket.

“Are you stupid?” he asked faintly. “Because you’ve got to be as dense as concrete if you _really_ think I’m keeping him?”

Steve’s smile faltered. “You don’t want him?” he really hoped that didn’t sound judgemental at all, because this poor guy had had a hell of a day-

“Don’t want him? Of course I want him!” James gaze snapped back down as the boy made a quiet coo, their conversation probably disturbing his sleep. “He’s my son,” he said in a much more measured tone although it wavered, and Steve could see his eyes glistening. “I’d give anything to keep him.”

“Then I’m sure that if you-”

“If I what?” He growled, locking his eyes back onto Steve’s. “Hm? If I – call up my family, beg them to take me back? If I – go to a homeless shelter and rely on their generosity?”

“I – well, if those aren’t options – then, I…” Steve swallowed, nervous. He was fucking this up _badly._  “What about – I don’t know, do you know who his father is?”

James went utterly silent.

“His father?”

“Yeah,” Steve was relieved. A beat.

“I don’t know who his father is. I hope to _god_ I never find out, because his _father_ isn’t a man I want to be in his life in _any_ capacity.”

Oh.

Shit.

“I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, no, you mean well by coming into my life and sweeping me off of my feet and offering me a one-size-fits-all solution to a problem that hasn’t got any fucking answers. My family threw me onto the streets, I had no job to go to, no friends to call, and the homeless shelters all kicked me out once I got big enough to pop because a _baby_ would _disrupt the peace that homeless people wanted shelter for_.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, and the look on James’ face really made it hit home that this was a _boy_ that just wanted to be able to take his son somewhere safe. Who just wanted a home to go to and worry about what kind of father he’ll be – not whether he gets to be one at all.

“I saved up for four weeks to buy him this blanket,” James muttered brokenly after a minute of silence, stroking the soft material gently with one hand. “Four weeks. I just… I wanted him to have something from me when I had to give him up.”

“You’re putting him up for adoption.”

He saw James’ throat go up and down, both from swallowing and from working out the words to speak next.

“Someone out there – there’ll be a couple out there that’ll love him. That’ll – they’ll have been waiting for him. For a chance to be parents. They – they’ll have a whole room ready for him. Toys to play with. Clothes to wear.  They’ll love him as much as I do. But they’ll be able to provide for him.”

 _You’re an idiot,_ Steve thought, gearing up. _Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you fucking dare._

“I – I have a spare room. In my apartment. It’s a decent size. I – I’ve got some savings, and – if you wanted – you and… you and your son, you’d be welcome to… to stay with me while you get on your feet.”

James froze, completely still but for the rise and fall of his chest.

“Who are you?” James demanded coldly. “Some – some knight in shining armour? Pretending to be all I’ve ever wanted so you get me into your house as your fucking slave or something?”

“No!” Steve insisted. “Steve Rogers. Like I said. And if I wanted you in my house, I could have just brought you there first thing today - instead of bringing you here.”

“I know what your game is,” James continued, refusing to allow the idea of Steve being a decent guy to settle in. “You just want to make yourself feel like a good person. You’ll just throw me back onto the streets next week when the baby won’t stop crying. And you’re probably a fucking serial killer for all I know! Kill me and take my son, raise as your junior serial killer…”

“Quite the imagination you’ve got,” Steve said drily, before sighing, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. “I’m not a serial killer. I’m a police officer.”

James’ eyes went wide as he scanned the badge, looking like he wanted to scramble away but wincing at the first movement.

“Police? I – I haven’t done anything wrong – homelessness isn’t a crime-”

“What?” Steve interrupted, gobsmacked. “I’m not saying it is. I’m just – look. I showed you so that you know I’m really not asking for anything in return. I do want to give you somewhere to stay. I want to help you look after your son – it’s so obvious how much you want to keep him, it really is. If you’d rather I called one of my co-workers, we could find someone else willing to let you stay with them. No charge at all. It’s my job to help people – and not just about crime.”

The carrier’s chest continued to heave, the baby starting to gargle into wakefulness from the movement.

“No – no funny business? No – no hidden terms, no you – you taking advantage of me, nothing?” he looked sceptical. “You want nothing in return?”

“Yes,” he replied with hesitation. “If you don’t want to take me up on it, that’s okay. If you’ve got your mind made up, or, you’d rather I _did_ call a friend, I can do that. I just want to help you get off the street. God knows it’s hard knowing there are hundreds of people like you in Brooklyn alone.”

James didn’t reply for a long time, gaze returning to his dozing infant as Steve assumed the chair and let him think. After a long while James took a deep breath in, gearing himself up to talk – but he was interrupted by the door opening.

“We have the adoption papers ready for you to sign, if you’re still going through with it?” the nurse at the door said, clipboard and pen in hand without an ounce of judgement.

“No,” James insisted seemingly instinctively, before proceeding to curl tighter around the boy. “I – I’m keeping him. I’ve changed my mind. He’s mine, I’m keeping him.”

Relief poured into Steve’s chest and he let himself relax. It was not a decision he’d made lightly, James, as he’d taken a long while to make up his mind – not that Steve could begrudge him that.

“We’ll need an address, then,” the nurse said instead, still lacking any judgement, though gently prodding to be sure that James wasn’t planning on living on the street. “To send the certificate to?”

“I can do that,” Steve supplied as James sent him a panicked look. “Tell Claire I said thank you, would you?”

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “She’d skin you if you didn’t thank her at least once a week. I’ll see you around, Steve.” She took her leave after he filled out the relevant information he could provide.

And just like that, Steve found himself as technically the guardian of a new-born baby and his skittish father.

 

The nurse told him that James would probably be discharged the following afternoon, so Steve, fortunately having the first of his three-off days, had until then to ransack his savings and get anything a baby might need in the next three weeks before he got paid and could repeat the process.

His first stop was the nearest baby store, wandering into the furniture section until he could grab the attention of an attendant, spewing some story about how a friend had had a baby recently but all of his things were destroyed in a fire, so he was staying with Steve, who needed everything ASAP. It seemed to work much better than Steve expected, with the woman frowning sadly, remarking at how cruel the world could be before getting down to business and calling over a man to bring a giant cart for him to take everything to the counter with.

While his eyes did go a bit wide at the total, he shook it off; it wasn’t like he was saving up for anything but a rainy day, and if this didn’t count, nothing did. The manager was also kind enough to apply a small, but no less appreciated discount, as a police officer and also for housing someone in need.

Next, the local supermarket, where he just got four giant packs of diapers, several packets of bottles, lots and _lots_ of baby formula, and baby wipes. And clothes. He heard babies went through a lot of clothes.

He hoped to _god_ he didn’t forget anything, but it might have been better if he had – he had trouble fitting it all into his damned car by the end of it.

Building it all was a whole other story- he needed to completely change the layout of the guest room in order to fit the crib and the changing table, but most everything else had to go in the living room, because it just simply wouldn’t fit.

By midday, his home looked completely unrecognisable.

Lived in.

God knows it hadn’t looked that lived in since he’d started living there. And then Steve had to wonder – was he doing this partly because of the company James might bring? He’d wanted a roommate, sure. Maybe James would become a decent friend, after all.

At just before one, after finishing his instant noodles, because he was a _healthy millennial,_ he set out back for the clinic, a baby carrier set up in the back seat, and his life a hell of a lot more complicated than yesterday.


	3. Chapter 3

“He’s not coming, is he?” Bucky whispered to Tommy, all bundled in his blanket, sound asleep. It was nearing one-thirty, and Steve had said he’d be on his way by one.

Steve was blowing him off.

What an _asshole_. What the fuck was he supposed to do _now_? He couldn’t bring himself to ask for the adoption papers, not again, not after he’d already given his son a name, not after he’d held him for a full day, only putting him down so Bucky could sleep or go to the bathroom. On the verge of crying again, he lifted Tommy so he could hide his face in his blanket.

There was an abrupt door opening, almost slamming if it weren’t for the sound of whoever it was catching the door and saying loudly,

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to slam it-”

Surprised, Bucky looked up. Okay, maybe he had overreacted that the guy was half hour late.

He was just so used to things going wrong, that…

“You’re late,” he accused, getting slowly to his feet, wincing at the tenderness down south.

“Sorry,” Steve cringed, passing over the baby carrier. “Traffic was terrible.”

“Lunch hour,” he sighed. It was usually when people were more likely to pass over a few crumpled ones as they chewed on their take-outs on the streets, guilty that a pregnant carrier couldn’t afford to eat. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

Steve just shrugged awkwardly, so Bucky took the carrier with one hand and set it on the chair he was sitting on, slowly wincing as he bent to sit on his knees.

With great care, but no finesse, he attempted to strap Tommy into his little carrier, just managing not to rouse him as he finished up. He slid his backpack on, and rose to his feet, taking the handle in one hand, looking at Steve from the corner of his eye with apprehension.

There he goes. With a stranger. To possibly totally ruin his life.

As long as he kept Tommy fed, happy, and healthy, with a roof over his head, though… Bucky was sure he could tolerate everything the ‘police officer’ wanted to do to him.

“You ready to go?” Steve asked him, a bright smile on his face. Bucky swallowed, nodding.

“Let’s go,” he said shakily.

“Have you given him a name yet?”

Bucky bit his lip. “Thomas.”

“That’s a nice name,” Steve’s smile didn’t falter at all, opening the car door for him so he could slide the baby’s carrier into the seat. “You can sit up front if you want to. Or back here. Wherever you want.”

Bucky didn’t respond, choosing to mulishly sit alongside the baby’s carrier without a second glance towards Steve.

Steve started up the car in silence, but after a moment of sitting in the spot with the engine on, Steve cleared his throat.

“Um – seat belt?” Startled, Bucky looked up, catching Steve’s eyes in the mirror. To his credit, he looked as awkward as he sounded, and Bucky sighed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling his seat belt on with a loud click. He supposed it was his job to be picky about that sort of thing. Steve was a police officer.

It wasn’t as comforting as he thought it would be.

“Thanks,” Steve replied, and finally, they were moving to what felt like Bucky’s doom. But then, he could never stoop lower than getting pregnant, disowned by his parents _a second time_ , and being forced to give birth on the street. So, really, things were kind of looking up. Kind of.

“So, um, how old are you?”

Bucky blinked, watching his son’s chest rise and fall as he tried to decide if and how he wanted to answer. “Twenty-two.” He said honestly. What was the point in lying? The guy was a police officer. He could probably tell he was basically a twink. At least this way he knows he’s legal.

“Wow,” Steve sounded surprised. “I thought you looked young.”

“I’m not a kid.” He snapped.

“I – no, I know, that’s not what I meant,” Steve amended. “I just… when I think of ki-I mean _people_ your age, I just think of college. Or work. Not that I’m – not that I’m calling you lazy or anything, I’m not, I just – I’m gonna stop talking.”

“You’re not even old,” Bucky scoffed. He’d caught Steve’s date of birth on his ID, and he’d only recently turned thirty. “You can’t say _people your age_ like you’re a grandpa. You’re thirty. Thirty isn’t old.”

“I feel old,” Steve grumbled. “I need to take a nap every time I get home from work. If you need to take naps that often, you’re old.”

“I took naps all the time in college,” Bucky snickered before freezing. He hadn’t meant to say anything about himself at all. He didn’t want more reason for Steve to turn around and throw him onto the street.

“Students have the excuse of brain-numbing lessons. I just sit in an office most the day. It’s not all Brooklyn nine-nine you know.”

“I’m sure once in a while you get a minor burglary. Or if you’re lucky, someone reversed into someone else’s car.”

“If only I were that lucky,” Steve muttered. “Occasionally we get a murder, but they’re nothing like how those crime dramas show them. Mostly it’s just sad.” Steve seemed to shake himself then, realising he’d turned the topic to a far more grim one than necessary. “What did you do at college then?”

“Nothing,” he muttered venomously. He always got shit over his major, and especially after he had to drop out.

“I won’t make fun of you!” Steve insisted, and Bucky could hear the smile in his voice.

“Everyone always does. I’m not telling you.”

“Come on. Even if it’s something like botany. That can save a life, right?”

“When has botany ever saved someone’s life?”

“That guy from The Martian. He was a botanist. Also, poisonous plants or whatever. Mostly The Martian though.”

“I can’t believe you’re using a movie about astronauts to tell me that botany is a useful skill to have. I live in Brooklyn. I can’t afford a garden. I can’t even afford a _home_.” Bucky spat bitterly, Thomas’ little hand wrapped around his pinkie.

Steve didn’t reply, and it was Bucky’s turn to sigh. This time it was him who’d turned the topic to a depressing one.

“Math,” he grumbled.

“Math? I’ve never met _anyone_ good at math.” A beat. “Except Tony, but he’s… Tony. You must be pretty smart, then?”

Bucky didn’t reply, having to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from saying _I dropped out second year, does that sound smart to you?_ Steve didn’t mean anything by it.

“I like math,” he just sighed, and left it at that.

Thankfully, Steve went silent.

Traffic was just as terrible going back as Steve had said it was coming in, so it took almost twenty minutes going to Tommy’s new home.

He’d gotten a little too friendly with Steve on that drive home so he gave the officer the cold shoulder as he limped silently to the elevator in the apartment building. It was nice. Not _fancy_ , but not shoddy, either. Better than where he imagined he might end up. He wondered how long Steve would pretend to be nice for, before he started being bitter. Started asking for things in repayment for letting him and his son live in his home rent-free. Before he ultimately made them leave.

“This one’s – uh, ours.” Steve said awkwardly, pulling his keys from his back pocket. Bucky didn’t respond, waiting silently for the door to open, and when it did…

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky said instinctively. “You bought all this shit?”

“Well, I don’t have a baby already, nor do I know anyone with one. So… yeah?”

“Okay,” Bucky muttered under his breath, panic settling into his core. Maybe he hadn’t totally accounted for how much stuff a kid needed. Maybe he could work it out. “I – I don’t know what any of this stuff is,” he walked into the apartment hesitantly, eyes swivelling in every direction he could to soak in his son’s first home.

“Me neither,” Steve scratched his head. “I mean – the people at the store said I needed it. And I’m sure it can’t be too hard to work out, you know?” he frowned in the direction of what looked like an elaborate baby-bouncer. “Maybe?”

Bucky’s words were beginning to completely fail him. Either he was in over his head, or Steve was.

“I’ll show you your room,” Steve said after a moment of awkward silence. Bucky started, flicking his eyes over to the other man with confusion.

“You… were serious about the room?”

Steve blinked at him. “Well, yeah. What did you think I was-” he cut himself off, eyes going wide, and Bucky dropped his gaze to the ground. “No. I – no. You’ve got a room for you and – Thomas. It’s just through here, second on the right. The first on the right is the bathroom.”

There were too many things about this situation that could be described as _awkward._ The very tilt to Steve’s head as he gestured to the rooms, the way he spoke, and the way he made eye contact before his eyes flitted away.

It was almost like Steve was feeling just as ridiculous about this situation as he was.

Thomas whimpered in the seat, and Bucky’s gaze snapped down instantly, a light fission of fear coating his insides, but the adorable infant just whined again and shuffled slightly, breathing evening out.

Steve opened the door to his guest bedroom – now Bucky’s permanent residence – and stood to one side. It wasn’t enormous, but there was room for Bucky and his son until – well, probably until Thomas got to about four or five. By then, though, maybe Bucky would be in a hell of a lot better place mentally – maybe back with his family. Or, hell, even if he wasn’t and still had nowhere to go, Steve would keep them both until he couldn’t anymore.

“It’s not huge,” he said his thoughts sheepishly. “I mean – it’s a decent size.”

“It’s bigger than my old room. Before, I mean.” He added, in case Steve thought he was being morbid about the size of his old, non-existent home.

“Well… make yourself at home, I guess. I was gonna order takeout or something for dinner. Did you want anything in particular?”

His mouth watered at the idea of food. Of tasty, saucy pizza. Spicy Indian… sweet and sour _Chinese_ …

“Anything,” he breathed, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t mind.”

“Great!” Steve perked up. “I’ve got tons of menus. They’re in the drawer next to the sink, so when you feel ready to come on out, take a look. I’ll let you settle in, I’ll be watching TV, probably.”

And with that, the blond took his leave, shutting the door with a soft click.

Bucky just really wanted to curl up on the bed and cry.

“Okay,” he muttered to both himself and his tiny infant son. “We can work this out, huh, Tommy? We can do this, right?”

 

Right?

 

It wasn’t ten minutes later before Bucky startled at a knock to the door, somehow managing to sound sheepish.

“Hi, uh, James? I forgot to mention something, mind if I come in?”

“Okay,” he croaked, Tommy having been settled into the little bassinet on the side by the closet.

The door clicked open, and though also apologetic, Steve looked pretty serious.

“I forgot to tell you I keep a safe in here, I’ll move it if you want me to – I mean, I’ll probably move it anyway, considering- but it’s the safe I put my off-duty gun in. I understand you probably don’t want it in here, so I’ll just…”

“Why do you keep your gun in a separate room?” was all Bucky could ask, baffled.

“Because I keep the ammo in my bedroom.”

“That’s not really answering my question.”

“I’m a cop, okay? I’m allowed to be paranoid about things like guns. I see enough gun related accidents in my line of work.”

“So…” Bucky struggled. “You keep the gun and ammo in separate safes to avoid… an incident?”

“Separate safes, separate rooms, different codes,” Steve confirmed.

“But what if there’s an emergency and you need them both immediately? Like – I don’t know, someone broke into your apartment with a gun too?”

“Then making sure they don’t have access to another gun is always my priority. I can handle an intruder,” Steve replied firmly. “I’ll get the safe outta here.”

“You can leave it if you want,” Bucky shrugged. After all, his first home had housed two guns. He was no stranger to them, and had never been tempted to pick up even one. “I don’t know the code anyway. Don’t know where the other safe is. You’re probably paranoid enough to have anti-theft stuff on ‘em. I won’t try to get in them.”

It gave Steve pause for a long moment, and that was when another layer of panic started to settle in. Steve didn’t trust him – which was completely fair, as they’d known each other less than a day – but was Bucky supposed to be terrified of the idea of a gun near his baby? But the gun wasn’t loaded, it was in a locked safe, and belonged to a _cop_. If he couldn’t be comfortable with that specific scenario, he’d _never_ be comfortable.

“If you’re sure…” Steve hesitated. “I mean, I do have tamper proof stuff on there, so even if you did – not saying you _would_ – I’d know about it… and if it really doesn’t bother you and… Thomas…”

“It doesn’t.”

“Alright then…” he looked like he wanted to say something else, _anything_ else, but faltered.

Bucky sighed. “I’m coming out. Maybe show me those menus?”

“Right! Yeah, I can – did you want Chinese or Italian?”

“I don’t care,” he replied, because he hadn’t eaten a real meal in over a week, since a nice lady bought him something from Wendy’s because he looked hungry. Food was hard to come by when you were on the streets, but admittedly a little easier once he looked noticeably pregnant. People felt bad for pregnant people on the streets.

 

Thomas was cute. Steve had no problem admitting it. Kid was _unbelievably_ cute. He’d done nothing but sleep since they got to Steve’s apartment, mouth wide open, taking cute little puffs of breaths like snores. So cute.

And then he started crying. He’d ordered Chinese in the end, and James was halfway through his plate of food on the other armchair when Thomas started bawling, and he was on alert immediately, pushing his plate of food away like he wasn’t starving for more and plucking his son from the bassinet and clutching him close.

It felt too intimate, really, for Steve to watch so closely. James was trying to learn everything he could about his son, the son he almost didn’t get to keep, and Steve was invading on this moment.

He couldn’t help but continue to stare, however, as James gently  looked him over, checking his diaper, bouncing him in place, looking more and more nervous as the minutes passed and his cries got louder.

“I – I think he’s hungry,” his voice wavered, “Is – do you – any milk?”                                                       

“Um – I bought formula?” Steve put his own plate on the table and darted up, rummaging through his cupboard to pull out the formula triumphantly. “I got a bunch so you could, uh, figure out the best one? I don’t know much about babies.”

“You think I do?” Bucky hmphed, but slowly got to his feet and wandered over, Thomas only lightly soothed by the motion. “Just – just let me make a bottle. Any bottle. I don’t think it matters the type of formula. Unless he’s allergic to anything…”

“It’ll take a while for allergy symptoms to appear, and even then, it’s supposed to just be stuff like spit up, right?”

“Once again, you think I know?” James responded sharply, looking like he regretted it immediately as Thomas’ cries picked up in volume and James looked down. “Sorry,” he said quickly, taking the first formula from the counter and rushing away to figure out how to make it.

Steve just let him be, backing away as James tried to work out the first time he should feed and care for his son. “If you need anything, just… let me know.”

James just nodded.

It didn’t take long for him to make up the bottle, and soon he was offering it to the wailing boy gently, making calming cooing noises. It was unfairly fascinating to watch Thomas take the bottle, suckling at his first meal in his new home as his eyes fluttered closed. James’ expression softened with relief and tenderness as the apartment fell comfortably silent once more, and he slowly wandered back to his seat.

“Sorry,” James apologised again, quieter, and gaze totally on his baby.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Steve said awkwardly. “Really, you don’t.”

“For snapping.”

“I just said…” Steve shook his head, sighing. “I’d rather we weren’t stepping on eggshells around each other. This is weird, I know, we met yesterday and now we’re living together and you have a baby. If this isn’t a movie waiting to happen, I don’t know what is, but that’s not the point. All I want is for you and your son to have a roof over your head for as long as you need one. And living with me occasionally entitles you to snap at me, especially if I’m doing something you don’t like with or around your son.”

“But where do you get off?” Bucky asked, irritation seeping into every crack in his voice, accompanied closely by exhaustion. “What are you getting out of this? What part of this are you getting off on? Some vulnerable, easy bitch in your spare room for a quick fuck when you want one?”

“I’m not using you as a live in hooker,” Steve replied instantly, unable to bridle the anger flowing through those words. “All I’m trying to do is give you some place to stay while you figure it out. If you don’t _want_ to stay, fine, I can’t make you. But the thing is, you agreed to come here, to stay with me, and you still think I’m going to hurt you?” he asked incredulously, before pausing. “You still think I’m going to hurt you,” he repeated, James flinching away, watching his son eat intently.

“Why else would you invite me here?” he muttered. “In your apartment where you live alone. Where you’ve bought everything I could possibly need to keep my son healthy. It – it’s some kind of – of ploy, isn’t it? It has to be. You promise to take care of my son and in return I…”

“I’m not using you,” Steve promised quietly. “But you’re not going to take my word for it. So, you can just see it. In all the time that you’re staying with me, I won’t ever intentionally hurt you, or do anything you don’t want me to do. And hell, all I’ll ask for in return is once a while clean up, or something. Maybe make dinner every now and then. That’s all. Does that sound fair?”

“Not really,” James shook his head. “You’re not asking much.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve replied wryly. “Maybe in a few months you can negotiate up. But for now, we’ll stick with this.”

“Whatever,” James huffed, deliberately not meeting Steve’s eyes.  Steve wondered briefly if he was going to cry, but didn’t think much of it; guy’s hormones were probably all over the place.

And anyway, Thomas was almost finished with his bottle.

Steve returned to his meal in silence.

 

That night, he was startled awake, blinking blearily at his clock loudly declaring it **_2:36 AM_** , by the unpleasant sound of a baby screaming. There was a long, _long_ minute, where Steve debated trying to get back to sleep, but it seemed that with each passing minute, the poor baby’s cries got louder, shriller. Eventually, he just hauled himself out of bed and tiptoed to his roommate’s room, tapping gently, afraid of furthering the poor thing’s torment.

“James?” he muttered quietly. “Everything okay?”

“Fine! We – we’re fine,” James practically pleaded. “I’ll get him to stop in a minute, I swear, I just…”

Steve’s heart went out to the poor guy. “Does he need a bottle making up? I can make one if you want?”

James was silent for a long moment, but Thomas’ screams seemed to get the better of him.

“Yeah,” he replied, almost broken and muffled by the door. “Please, yeah?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, stepping away before repeating himself quietly, under his breath, trying to convince himself he could successfully make a baby’s bottle of formula.

He’d like to think he did a pretty good job, too, especially for a first timer. It was warm but not burning, looked like the right consistency and colour.

It was milk. Steve was applauding himself over a bottle of milk.

Small victories.

“I thought he needed changing,” James sounded desperate when Steve came into his room and offered the bottle. “I – I changed him and rocked him and he just keeps crying…” but he took the bottle and gently, so, _so_ gently, offered the nipple to his crying son, and to James’ immense relief, judging by the ease of tension from his shoulders, he took it and sucked.

“S’okay,” Steve said quietly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “’s probably gonna take a while for you to get used to ‘im. Figure ‘im out, you know.” he tried valiantly not to yawn. “I’m gonna… get back to bed.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t cry again,” James tensed, hunching slightly over the baby.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Steve said again. “I’m sure we’ll get used to it.”

And with the new silence, he returned to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's a math nerd because _I'm_ a math nerd :P  
>  I really love math!


End file.
